Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall

chomp. Still no pop, so the Saint dropped the slobbery mass in the middle of the sisal area rug.

      The room was furnished with comfortable-looking furniture and there was an abundance of books and newspapers, a few kids’ toys and dog toys, and sofa cushions that needed straightening.

      Kristi took her camera out of her bag and looped the strap around her neck. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to photograph each room. When I get back to my place…my office—” He didn’t need to know she did most of her work out of the back of her minivan and at one end of her kitchen table. “The photographs help me create a design plan and draw up a budget.”

      “Fine with me. Are you okay to look around on your own? I still have some work to do outside.” He pulled his gardening gloves back on.

      “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll look through the house and we can talk when I’m done.”

      “And I will tidy up in here tonight,” he assured her again.

      The week-old remnants of the party seemed to embarrass him. Kristi didn’t see them as a problem, quite the opposite. At least there had been a party, and that was definitely to his credit. She couldn’t remember the last time Jenna’s dad had even called to wish their daughter a happy birthday. Gifts? Not even a consideration.

      “Molly. Martha. Let’s go. You can play outside while I work.”

      “Daddy, why is she taking pictures?”

      “She needs to know what the house looks like.”

      He took Molly’s hand and coaxed her out of the room along with her sister, who needed no urging at all. The dog seemed content to amble along after them.

      “Why?”

      “Because.”

      “Because why?”

      “Because she just does.”

      To say Nate McTavish was overwhelmed by single-parenthood would be the understatement of the century, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for with patience. In spades.

      As he walked away, she smiled at the green lettering on the back of his T-shirt. Go Green With Photosynthesis. At least now the equation on the front made sense, and confirmed her guess that he probably was a gardener. Her gaze dropped a little lower. There was a lot to be said for a flattering pair of jeans, but these particular jeans were simply magic. She quickly looked away. You have a job to do, and that is not it.

      Since her ex, Derek the Deadbeat, had left twelve years ago, she had been on a number of casual dates, mostly with men her family and friends had set her up with, but she had guarded against anything that would distract her from becoming a self-sufficient single mom and career woman.

      Everything about this man was distracting. The hair that could use a trim but suited him anyway, his being oblivious to the streak of dirt on his forehead, and oh…those eyes. She never felt awkward with new clients, but if she’d had to go through every room in the house with him, knowing those eyes watched every move she made, she would not have been able to focus. Especially after the moment they’d had when she tripped over the little yellow boot. And it hadn’t just been her moment. He’d felt it, too. She was sure of it.

      With him out of the room if not entirely out of her mind, she pulled open the heavy drapes and imagined the clutter away. The rich wood of the floors and beamed ceiling created a warm contrast to the polished river rock of the open-hearth fireplace. She would start staging in this room, she decided. The fireplace was the focal point of the room, and it would create the perfect jumping-off point for the casual West Coast decor she would carry throughout the house. She didn’t even need to see the other rooms to know she could make it work.

      She raised her camera, snapped a photo of the fireplace and then systematically documented the rest of the room.

      Her BlackBerry buzzed before she had a chance to move on. It was her mother. She could either take the call now or wade through a half dozen messages later on. Kristi adored her mom, but in the history of motherhood, Gwen Callahan’s persistence in checking up on her daughter was unmatched.

      “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

      “Hello, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

      “Actually, I’m in the middle of a job.”

      “Oh. Well then, this’ll just take a minute.”

      I suppose there’s a first time for everything. “What would you like?”

      “I was just talking to my old friend, Cathie Halverson. You remember her, don’t you? They lived across the street when you were in high school, then they moved to Spokane.”

      “Ye-e-e-e-s.” Kristi already knew where this was going.

      “Her son Bernard has just moved back to Seattle. I’m sure you remember him.”

      All too well. Bernie Halverson had asked her to a school dance when she was fifteen. She went because it was the first time anyone had ever asked her out and she hadn’t had the sense to say no. The date had been a disaster. They’d had nothing to talk about, and his idea of slow-dancing was synonymous with groping. He had reeked of cheap cologne, and the next day she’d had to wash her favorite sweater three times to get the smell out of it. But the worst part had definitely been the kiss.

      “Sure,” she said. “I sort of remember him.”

      “He doesn’t know that many people in Seattle,” Gwen said. “So I was thinking we could invite him to Aunt Wanda and Uncle Ted’s Fourth of July barbecue. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

      To Bernie Halverson, it might. For a split second she considered telling her mother he’d been the first boy to stick his tongue in her mouth, she hadn’t liked it one bit and if he was still single after all these years it’s because he was still a letch.

      She couldn’t tell her mother that. Gwen Callahan did not like to discuss “intimacies,” as she so delicately referred to them. But then straight out of the blue, Kristi had a better idea.

      “I don’t think so, Mom. I’ve actually just met someone.” It wasn’t a lie, really. She had just met someone. Nate McTavish. So it was only the teeniest of lies. Just a fib, really. “It’s nothing serious or anything but I don’t think we should give Bernie…Bernard…the wrong idea.”

      It took her mother five full seconds to respond. “You’re seeing someone? When did this happen? Why haven’t you said anything? Has Jenna met him? Are the two of you—”

      “Mom, stop. It’s recent, very recent, and like I said, it hasn’t turned into anything serious. And no, Jenna hasn’t met him so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to her.”

      “What’s his name? What does he do?”

      “Oh. Nate. His name’s Nate and he’s a… He works in landscaping.” And in a blink the fib turned into a terrible lie that she would, without question, live to regret.

      “Well, this is certainly a surprise. Where did you meet him?”

      “Through work.” That part was true. “And I’m at work right now, Mom, so I really can’t talk.”

      “I’ll call you tonight so we can make plans. You’ll have to invite him to Wanda’s barbecue so we can all meet him. So Jenna can meet him. Or you can give me his number and I’ll invite him.”

      And there came the part where she would live to regret this…right on schedule. “No! No. Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to him about it. I’m not sure if he’s free, though. I think maybe he mentioned something about having plans with his family.” Stop. Talking. The hole she was digging would soon be so deep, she’d never climb out of it. “I have to go, Mom. I’m working with a new client this afternoon. I’ll talk to you later.”

      “I’ll call you tonight,” Gwen said again.

      Kristi